


Hangover Cure

by IdolDaydreams



Series: Tumblr Requests [6]
Category: VIXX
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Implied Excessive Alcohol Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7686721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdolDaydreams/pseuds/IdolDaydreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night of unplanned drinking, Taekwoon helps you nurse your hangover. So much for the nice date you had planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hangover Cure

A text alert jolts you awake. You spring halfway up to sitting, and your head spins at the sudden movement. Your skull is pounding and heavy. Early evening light pours in through a slit in your blinds, making everything a thousand times worse. You drank far too much last night. The contents of your stomach slosh around in protest.

With great effort, you pick up your phone from where it’s charging beside you. The text is from Taekwoon, reading: “I’m here.” Your eyes, barely open before, snap alert. You had a date.

In the quickest text of your life, you reply: “Shit! I overslept! I’m so sick.”

He replies within seconds. “Let me in.”

You can think of worse times he could see you, but all of them involve you being dead. Reluctantly you pull off your blankets, toss your phone down, and walk toward the front door. You’re wearing last night’s clothes, rumpled from tossing and turning. They stick to you in uncomfortable ways. You don’t bother to check your hair in the mirror. You don’t deserve to be seen, even by yourself.

When you open the door, Taekwoon is already standing there. Through your brain fog, you manage to notice he’s bare-faced and wearing mostly black. Looking far more handsome and put-together than of which you feel worthy. Nothing new. His expression is either concern or shock. The latter seems more likely. His first action on your non-date is to look just above you and reach up to smooth your hair. You should have checked the mirror.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you step aside. “The party ended really late. My friends kept giving me drinks.”

Taekwoon takes off his shoes by the door. As he does, he stares at you in silent judgment. He asks after a few seconds, “Do you have stuff for haejangguk?”

It’s hard to remember, but you’re pretty sure you didn’t eat everything in your fridge last night. Pretty sure. “Yeah, I should.”

“Okay,” he responds, heading toward the kitchen. “Go take a shower. I’ll make it.”

You grumble “At least I’m not face-down on the floor dressed like a reindeer” loud enough for him to hear. You trudge to your room for a change of clothes. He calls something after you just before you close the door.

After your shower, you still feel gross. However, it’s more gross on the inside than out. You were supposed to have a fun date today. A fun date with a new boyfriend and absolutely no unplanned sickness. Instead he’s in your kitchen making you hangover soup like you’re his drunk uncle. You didn’t even have time to make yourself a pretty drunk uncle. What a great impression.

Convinced you’ve already shown him the worst side of you, changing into pajamas and going bare-faced doesn’t seem so bad. When you approach Taekwoon still at the stove, he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You look cute,” he says, stirring the soup with a large spoon.

“Don’t lie,” you scold, looking up at him.

He stops stirring and scoops up some broth, holding it up for you to taste. “I don’t lie well.”

You slurp up the entire spoonful. Whatever he did, it’s better than when you make it yourself. You give him your seal of approval, and he smiles.

The two of you eat together, and afterward end up on the couch. Taekwoon sits upright while you lie down on your side with your head in his lap. Your eyes are closed. He’s watching something on TV, but the volume is so low you can’t quite make it out. You said he could turn it up, but he didn’t want to make your headache worse. With one hand he massages the base of your skull and around your temple. After a few minutes, he pauses to run his fingers through your still slightly damp hair. Then he repeats.

“I’m sorry I ruined everything,” you say during what you think is a commercial.  
His hand pauses, but soon is massaging again. “You didn’t ruin it. We can go next time.”

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this.” Your reply comes more matter of fact, less whiny than it sounded in your head.

“Like what? You told me you were going there last night.”

You do remember that. He told you to text him when you got home. You think you did, but it probably wasn’t coherent. “All ugly and sick. No one wants to see that when they first start dating someone.”

Taekwoon applies a bit more pressure with his fingertips. Those piano fingers feel good. “If it had been me instead, would you be mad?”

“A little. You would have known we had plans today.” Your headache begins to melt wherever he touches. It doesn’t disappear, but you don’t notice the pain as much.

“Okay, but would you break up with me because of it? Because I wouldn’t look like I were going to a schedule? I don’t even look like that now.”

Without thinking, you shake your head. Instantly you regret it. “No.”

He exhales and pauses to rest his hand. “I don’t like you only because you’re pretty. You are, but there are more important things. Like how you treat your family and friends, how forgiving you are, how well we understand each other, how supportive you are. The way I feel when I’m around you. Neither of us will look like this forever.”

“So, how do you feel now?”

There’s a long pause. You assume because he’s working up the courage. He’s already said more than usual at once. Taekwoon starts massaging again. “Happy. Comfortable.” Another pause. In your mind, you see him biting his lip. You’re probably not wrong. “How do you feel?”

You repeat his words and add, “Less ashamed of myself.”

“You do it again and you should be ashamed,” he says, half-joking. He stops the massage just long enough to softly chop your neck.

“Don’t worry,” you reply with a feeble laugh. You bring your hand up to squeeze his knee next to your face. “I won’t.”


End file.
